


Not The Fall

by icarus_chained



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Fighting, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, Joyful, M/M, Post-Finale, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:24:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: Kallus and Zeb, sparring on Yavin. They've got a fight to finish. Or try to.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Only a rough, quick thing, this.

Yavin 4 had a training ground. Admittedly, one that was used on a much more ad hoc and haphazard basis than any imperial facility. The rebellion tended very strongly towards independent and in some cases self-taught fighters of every stripe and creed, many of whom did not take kindly to being retaught. It would never have the unified training and outlook of the Empire, and the training ground reflected that, being largely made use of in small groups and cells whenever they had the time and inclination. Nonetheless. Yavin 4 did have one. A space to fight and learn how to fight did exist.

Yavin 4 also, by virtue of being a jungle moon, had a lot of long lengths of wood lying around. In hindsight, Kallus really should have realised that it was only a matter of time before Zeb put those two facts together.

"We never did finish that fight," the lasat said, beaming toothily at him and idly tossing seven odd feet of wood directly at his head. It was only years of combat reflexes that kept Kallus from a(nother) concussion. He swayed back, catching the makeshift staff in both hands, and dropped instinctively into a stance to eye Zeb uncertainly across it. The lasat looked delighted and more than a little predatory at this reaction.

"I ... wasn't sure we were planning to?" Kallus ventured at last, more slowly and cautiously than was his wont. He didn't usually hesitate in the face of Zeb. Then again, he wasn't usually facing Zeb from this particular angle either. He wasn't entirely sure of the etiquette for internal fighting among rebels yet. He ... hadn't immediately planned on becoming acquainted with it. Or he'd hoped not to have to, at least. "Are we ..." he asked carefully. "Are we fighting, then?"

He wouldn't blame the lasat if they were. All things considered. And he was reasonably sure Zeb wasn't actually planning to kill him. If he hadn't done it on Bahryn, under significantly more provocation, he likely wasn't going to do it on Yavin. 

Not with a bit of wood, anyway. The lasat had the twin to Kallus' new staff in his hand. That looked more aimed towards a beating than a murder. Hopefully. 

Zeb's expression shifted though. Softened, predatory glee dampened back behind unexpected sympathy. He rose up a bit out of his ready stoop, the arm holding his staff dropping down and to his side. Kallus, more hesitantly, followed suit, and Zeb closed the few feet between them to touch a hand gently to his shoulder.

"We're not _fighting_ fighting," the lasat reassured, with an awkward little hunch of his shoulders. "I just thought, you know, doesn't mean we can't _fight_ sometimes. Ezra, Kanan and Sabine spar all the time. I don't get too many can go with me toe-to-toe, and now that you're not actually trying to kill us all the time I might actually get to enjoy it. You don't have to if you don't want to, I just thought ..."

He trailed off, backing off a step and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his staff, and Kallus ... felt something flush through him. Something he hadn't felt in a long time.

A sense of honest companionship.

"Yes, well," he said, turning the staff in his hands and glancing up at Zeb somewhat obliquely. "I suppose I wouldn't mind ... settling a few things. Since I, ah. Since I seem to recall I was _winning_. At the time. Small mishaps like crashing into moons aside."

He let his mouth curve, the tiniest and yet most irksome of faint grins, and both the lasat's eyebrows shot up. And then lowered again, slowly, _dangerously_ , over a much wider and slower sort of smile. A gleeful baring of teeth, a happy promise of violence. Despite himself, Kallus did feel a certain thrill at the sight.

"Yeah?" Zeb asked, prowling around him a bit. "'Cause I seem to recall you getting bounced off walls, is what _I_ recall. I'm not sure where you're getting this 'winning' idea from."

Kallus snorted. "Of course I was getting bounced off walls," he said, turning slightly to match the lasat's progress. "That's what _happens_ when you're fighting someone taller, stronger and faster than you are. It's not whoever falls down but whoever can't get back up again that counts." He paused, feeling his smirk fade into something a touch more rueful, and finished a little more softly: "As I'm sure we both remember."

Their first fight, ending with Zeb on his knees, had gone distinctly Kallus' way. Their last, owing to little things like broken legs, had gone somewhat less so. 

It was never who went down that decided things. It was always whoever couldn't get back up.

It always had been.

He'd fallen still a bit at the thought. Gone still, gone distant. Zeb reached out and nudged him, tapped the top of his staff gently against Kallus' chest. Kallus blinked up at him, startled, and Zeb offered him a smile with a few less teeth.

"Yeah," the lasat agreed, quietly. "Some people are better at finding their way back to their feet. Some people don't know when to give up. Right? That, too, I think we both remember."

... Yes. Yes, Kallus supposed they both did, at that.

He laughed softly. Shook his head, widened his stance and firmed his grip on his staff. He swung it testingly, just a time or two. Weighed it in his hands. It was weighted differently to either of their rifles, but so was Zeb's staff as well. That should equalise any discrepancies. It was firm, more solid than the rifles. It lacked the shock value, too, would have a more limited effectiveness with only the thrust itself to work with. It was just wood. He'd certainly have a little more difficulty trying to kill Zeb with just that. But then that, too, went both ways.

That, too, was the point.

He looked back up. Settled the staff into ready guard, grinned lazily up at the lasat in front of him. "Shall we?" he asked, letting that lazy hum of violence slither back through him. Zeb answered it, as always. Zeb met him tooth for tooth.

"After you," the lasat sneered happily. "Let's see how many times you bounce."

Kallus laughed, genuinely delighted, and swung. "So long as it's one more time than you!"

It was at once both familiar and strange, this fight. So many things the same. He knew Zeb, after all this time. He knew how the lasat fought. The hard flurry of blows to start, battering strength. The familiarity of sliding and swaying away from it. Avoiding the kick, there, trying to avoid getting bounced off the ground _right_ away. Ducking under a high sweep, sidling sideways and trying to jab an exposed side in passing. Failing to avoid _that_ kick, taking it high to the chest and rolling hard and fast away. Darting to his feet, backing off and circling to catch his breath, grinning sneeringly at his opponent. It was so familiar. All of it.

What wasn't _quite_ familiar was the lack of venom to it. The lack of rage, the lack of hatred. He should have said something by now. He should have flicked out a verbal knife to knock the lasat off his guard. To needle him, to anger him. Fighting Zeb was always paradoxically hardest and yet safest when the lasat was angry. It was so much easier to avoid blows swung with passion rather than precision. 

He didn't want to taunt, though. He didn't want to strike, not like that. There was a light in Zeb's eyes this time. Enjoyment. Delight. Not rage or annoyance or desperation. Not hatred. If Kallus didn't jab soon he was going to pay for it in bruises. That look in Zeb's eyes, though, trapped his tongue behind his teeth.

A different approach, then. Riskier, much less guaranteed in its success, but nothing for it.

"You are good, you know," he laughed, darting forward for a physical distraction. Jab, jab, duck, slide. Clip the lasat high on the ribs, unfortunately without the same effect the prong of a bo-rifle would have provided. Zeb's elbow barely missed his temple in retaliation. The low end of his staff _didn't_ miss his ribs. Kallus coughed, wheezing a laugh as he darted back. "Good, yes. Very ... very good. Ouch. Thank you."

"Anyone ever tell you you talk a lot when you're fighting?" Zeb shot back, swivelling to a crouch and striking low. Kallus flung himself backwards, dropping to the ground and rolling again to clear the follow-up from above. He barely made it, scrambling gracelessly back to his feet and practically hopping backwards. See, this? This was what he meant. This was why it was always so much harder to fight a calm lasat. They tended to still be _thinking_.

So, yes. Doing something about that. And not commenting on the odd reversed echo of Thrawn, either. This wasn't going to work if _he_ was the one distracted.

"Not normally," he panted, slanting the staff in readiness, an invitation. "Don't talk much to opponents who aren't you." A hard grin, _now_ taunting. "I suppose no one else allows me so much time for speaking."

"Hah! I'll show you time for speaking!" Zeb sneered, and took a running jump right at his head. 

Kallus let the smirk flicker, tight and delighted, and slid straight in to meet him. Good, good. Excitable, that was more like it. _This_ thrust made contact, hard and punishing right to the gut. Zeb staggered sideways away from it, swinging hard to drive Kallus out the other way. Kallus ducked under it, followed up with a hard blow across the back, knocking the lasat forward onto his knees. His luck ran out there, though, as Zeb went all the way forward onto hands and knees and kicked instinctively backwards with all his strength. Kallus saw disaster coming, turned his bad leg out of the way, but it still caught him a glancing blow. He swore under his breath and let it tumble him back and away. They both made it back to their feet at more or less the same time. Winded, now. Circling each other a great deal more warily than before. In spite of himself, in spite of the ever-present danger, Kallus found himself grinning near-wildly in exhilaration. Zeb, guarding his ribs defensively with one hand, grinned back at him just as fiercely.

"... Always with the cheap shots," Zeb managed eventually, raising his staff to point it quellingly in Kallus' direction. "Always with the ducking and sliding and squirming out of the way. I'd ask if you'd ever heard of fighting fair, but you're Empire, so I guess we already know."

Kallus snorted. " _Ex_ -Empire," he corrected tartly, and shrugged easily as he kept the lasat firmly in his sights. "And why fight fair when you can fight smart instead? Like I said. You're taller, faster, stronger. I'd be dead in less than a minute fighting someone like you if I didn't have one thing you don't."

"Yeah?" Zeb purred, coiling lower as he readied himself. Kallus, feeling raw joy blaze like lightning up his spine, shifted on his feet to meet him. "And _what's that_?"

It was a bellow, a roar of challenge as the lasat charged across the intervening space, and Kallus met him with a grin that felt permanently etched across his face. _Yes_. Yes, thank you. Savage, delighted challenge was far less efficient than furious hatred as a passionate motivator, but it would do the job just fine. Kallus spun himself into and through the charge, arms throbbing with the impact as the staves clashed in the middle. Didn't matter. He had the rhythm again. Back, back, slide and jab. Circle, duck, evade. Block, while the lasat swung at him with a laughing roar. Wait for it. Wait for it.

 _Strike_.

Two blows, fast and hard, knocking arms and staff up and out, knocking the lasat off balance. A low swipe, yanking his feet out from under him. And a drop, hard and wild and exhausted, to land beside him and press a length of wood quellingly across his throat. Zeb, hands already scrabbling to push himself back up, went still. Lay back, went still. Stared up at him with something wildly, terrifyingly nameless in his eyes.

"... _Patience_ ," Kallus wheezed, leaning near-ruined into the warmth of the lasat's chest. Zeb blinked at him, a flicker of confusion. Lost track of the conversation. Kallus didn't blame him. "What ... What I have, that you don't. It's patience, and ... and I'm going to win, every time, until you manage to match it. Bounce or. _No bounce_."

You just had to wait, you see. It was how he'd won their first fight, how he'd won all his fights. You just had to stay moving, stay alive, and _wait_. Sooner or later they'd swing too far. Sooner or later they'd leave themselves open. No matter how big they were. No matter how fierce. Sooner or later they'd slip. You just had to stay alive, you just had to keep your feet and keep your head, and, most of all, more than anything else, you just had to _wait_.

Something rumbled up beneath his arm. A movement, a sound. Laughter, rich and warm and ragged. Zeb shook with it beneath him. Zeb rumbled it up into Kallus' chest in turn.

"... If I wasn't patient," the lasat said. Reaching up. Cupping a hand around Kallus' cheek. "If I wasn't patient, Kal, I'm pretty sure one of us wouldn't be here."

... _Bahryn_. Not the first fight, but the last. Not to bring somebody down, but to pick them up when they already were. That wasn't ... that wasn't the same. Patience, yes. Victory, yes. Without it, Kallus wouldn't be here. But it wasn't ... it wasn't the same. That wasn't ...

It wasn't how you won a fight. Not a _fight_ fight. Not life or death.

But then, sometimes ... that wasn't what you were doing.

Sometimes, that was the _point_.

Kallus laughed. He dropped his head, landed it in the middle of the lasat's chest. He let go of the staff, the wood rolling gently out of his hand. Zeb lifted it from his throat, flicked it over his head to land absently somewhere beyond it with his own. He cupped one hand around the back of Kallus' head. Kallus laughed until he nearly cried. Zeb lay back and let him.

"... I still won," Kallus pointed out, after a long, long minute. Leaning his head on Zeb's chest, letting it rise and fall with the lasat's breathing. "The fight. I still won."

Zeb snorted gently. "Yeah, sure," he humoured. Smiled, small and gentle. "Gonna point out, though, from where I'm lying it looks like I didn't lose. So."

Because it wasn't who fell down that finished the fight. It was who couldn't get back up again.

And he supposed if you were both still standing at the end of it, then that meant that fight wasn't finished. Neither won nor lost. Not yet.

Not for a good while yet.

He levered himself up off Zeb's chest. Gingerly, carefully, as much for Zeb's sake as his own. He levered himself to kneeling, first, and then, slowly, to standing. Back onto his feet. Back up to fight again. He looked down at Zeb, who looked back up at him, that joy still in his eyes, that calm delight. Kallus shook his head, his smile rueful and amused, and held down his hand to pull Zeb after him. Two battered, aching warriors. Back on their feet. Ready to fight again.

"You're going to kill me before this is done," Kallus noted, almost mildly. "I've _lost_ fights less painfully than winning with you."

Zeb laughed. Grimaced, and hugged his ribs. "Guess I'll have to win a few, then," he said, smiling wide and happy. "Just to go easy you."

Kallus snorted. "You can _try_ ," he said, and wondered idly at how easily and how genuinely he meant it. Zeb could try. Try to kill him, try to save him, try to win, try to lose. Try to knock his brains out with a lump of wood. From here until eternity, Zeb could try, and Kallus would happily let him. 

And he really, _really_ hoped that hadn't shown so baldly on his face.

Zeb didn't challenge him on it, anyway. The lasat just laughed instead. Leaned over, slung a warm, casual arm around Kallus' shoulders. Honest companionship. "Come on," he said, hugging Kallus close. "Don't know about you, but I could use a 'fresher. And an ice pack. Maybe four."

Kallus snorted agreement. Maybe four. Maybe _ten_. But that was all right. That was fine.

At least this time, they'd be limping off the ice in the same direction.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to say something about vertical expressions of horizontal desires. Well. I wasn't.


End file.
